


Suggestive Photography

by orphan_account



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Air conditioning is important, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Sexting, Welcome to the 21st century steeb, or lucky steve depending on how you look at it, poor steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-22 04:29:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/908931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn't necessarily that she <i> wanted</i> a dick pic. <br/>Natasha just enjoyed a challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Suggestive Photography

**Author's Note:**

> For good ol' Nix, who essentially prompted this with the sentence I'm using as a summary.

Ever since she heard Tony's exclamation over the fact that Steve had never sent a dick pic to a girl (Why would he have? She doubted they sent photographs of their genitals through the mail when he was a young man. Younger man.) Natasha had decided he needed to modern up.

It wasn't necessarily that she _wanted_ a dick pic.   
Natasha just enjoyed a challenge.

Hence the sexting.

The poor guy didn't even know what she was doing, at first. Had no notion of what she meant when she was asked him the extent of his enhancements, didn't catch on to what she was implying when she said that somebody should test his stamina.

Even when she sent him a picture that was mainly underboob disguised as "Does this shrapnel wound look bad to you?", all he said was that she should probably have med look at it.

Natasha had never encountered a man so reluctant to show off their package.

When she got more obvious in her intentions, he just stopped replying.  
Not even the "This is hardly appropriate, Agent Romanov." that was his bread and butter for a week.

She was about ready to give up the day that they were both riding the elevator at HQ the same time some genius asshole of a villian decided it would be fun to shut off the power at SHIELD. The elevator ground to a halt, and the lights were off momentarily before they flickered on again; blue and weak.

Natasha looked over at Steve with a wry arch of her eyebrow and soon was sitting, back against the wall.  
She honestly wasn't trying to be a tease when she stood minutes later to shed her jacket and strip off her shirt, leaving her in a tanktop -- It was heating up quickly with no power, no air conditioning.

Of course she noticed the way his nostrils flared, jaw clenching. 

Natasha almost apologized.

But she was never one to back down from something she'd started, and if seeing the wisps of hair at the back of her neck curl into ringlets when damp with her sweat, the way her tanktop stuck to her skin and her lips parted as she tried to take a breath in the hot, dry air as the minutes passed on... Well, if seeing that had him closer towards checking off her goal of teaching Captain America what flirting was like in this century, so be it.

They mainly sat in silence, so Natasha was somewhat surprised when he spoke.

"Those texts you've been sending me," Steve seemed to be trying to find the words, looking down at his hands rather than across the elevator at her. Both of them were slicked with sweat -- who knew AC was so integral to elevator comfort?  
"You mean anything in particular?"

Natasha angled her head, raised her eyebrows at him.  
"Rather think I did."

Steve nodded, turning over the information, eyes still more at his feet than on her.

There was a slightly more uncomfortable silence, as Natasha had no idea what to read from his furrowed brows before she stood to stretch. It must have been around an hour and a half they'd been sitting there.

Suddenly his breath was hot against her neck, voice a low drawl.  
"Did you have any specific goal in mind?"

His fingers had found their way to her hips, brushing across them light and near hesitant, one thumb sliding up under the hem of her camisole.

Natasha leaned back the slightest amount against his chest and dropped her own voice until it was almost a purr.

"I'm open to suggestions."

Which was how she found herself barely perched on the railing in the elevator, arms around his neck and legs crossed at the ankle behind his back with his hips grinding into hers, mouths a clashing tangle of lips and tongue as they traded warmth, breath and soft noises of pleased appreciation.

When Natasha finally stepped out of the elevator perhaps another hour and a half later -- proud of how tidy she had managed to make herself look -- she mused that perhaps next time, they could be somewhere with a little more space.

And air conditioning.


End file.
